


a long line of fine

by fealle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, M/M, Slice of Life, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, unresolved everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fealle/pseuds/fealle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he takes note of that smile, that stance, that look, and tsukishima bites his lip. this one’s trouble, he knows. in that charming smile and that intense gaze tsukishima realizes that one can easily feel like the most important guy in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a long line of fine

**Author's Note:**

> au where kuroo is a teacher in karasuno and a coach of the volleyball team. heed the tags. 
> 
> [xposted](http://fealle.tumblr.com/post/112826852387/fic-cant-hold-us-student-tsukishima-teacher) in my tumblr, with some slight changes. wouldn't say it's better, but it's not as bad as before, either.

  
  
_if you're afraid of loneliness - don't fall in love._

  
  


SIDE A.

i.

Karasuno had fallen a long time ago. Stepping back into its shadow was embarrassing. It was, Tsukishima thought, the equivalent of taking the pulse of a roadkill smeared across the pavement in the height of summer. From the sky to the earth, the eagles and cats have moved on; they have taken its eyes and feet and have left nothing in its wake but feathers and bones.

 

Someone recognizes his face and his last name. Something like shame and understanding cross their face when they tell him, "Ah, Tsukishima ? I remember that name, wasn't there a - "

 

(Somewhere in the streets of Miyagi there is a dead crow seething in its remains who can understand exactly how he feels.)

 

ii. 

Tsukishima Kei: tall, intelligent, moderately attractive, blonde hair, brown eyes, too quiet, not quiet enough, soft hands, sharp tongue. He was intimidating and rough along the edges and maintains the company of just one or two people in the entire class. During social studies he hands in a hodgepodge of a project that was primarily his own work and his own editing, because the problem with being too intelligent and too impatient with people is that he has very few compulsions when it comes to passing judgement towards their failures and magnifying them under his imperious gaze. He was not the easiest person to get along with, and still: top marks in every subject, recommendations across the board, a potential scholarship to one of the most prestigious universities in this prefecture, in that prefecture. He was completely arrogant and temperamental despite his tendency to adapt a mask of indifference to anyone who says otherwise, and still: he shies away from gatherings, awkwardly responds to sincere praise, fumbles for kindness awkwardly where every word that was ripped out of his throat sounds like the prelude to a storm. 

 

Mr. Ukai, social studies teacher, looks at his work and then looks at him, dark eyes framed behind square lenses, and sighs. "Tsukishima . How long are you gonna cover up for your classmates when they don't do the work?"

 

He raises an eyebrow at his words. "I'm not covering up for anyone."

 

"So what does this mean?" he flips to a random page. He points to a paragraph. Tsukishima's gaze hardens. "You can't tell me Yamamoto wrote that himself, kid can barely even string English at the best of days."

 

"If this means you're going to fail me ...."

 

"I'm not going to. And I don't expect you to listen to me, stubborn as you are, but hopefully you don't regret finding out about this later on. You need to be a bit more reasonable when it comes to people."

 

'A bit more reasonable' sounds outrageous to him, and his disbelief is written plain on his face. Ukai presses on: "You've a lot to learn from your classmates as much as they do from you. The only thing that's missing is effort on your part."

 

"I put plenty enough effort to pass my courses."

 

"Aa, yeah, I know. When we ask for your liver you carve us a mountain and put it on our desks. It's real impressive. But you can do better than giving us bits and pieces of what you can offer. Try being invested in other people, Tsukishima."

 

He says nothing.

 

Ukai sighs. "Good work, as usual." 

 

He sounds disappointed as he says it; Tsukishima doesn't bother arguing. He's exhausted himself from this interaction alone and his hands are itching for something more real than being filtered through one standard of greatness to another. 

 

iii.

Yamaguchi meets up with him during lunch, as he always does. They talk. Or rather; he talks, and Tsukishima listens, offers commentary where necessary. Their interaction is utterly formulaic, and therefore stable. Tsukishima enjoys the conversation as much as he disdains being in the cafeteria. 

 

Sometimes, he thinks that the only reason why he stays in school is because he gets tired of being lonely while being alone.

 

iv.

English literature is the bane of his existence. And yet: today there seems to be an awkward silence as he enters the room, and watching his classmates' faces he realizes that this silence was one of intimidation and awkwardness. No wonder: their new teacher looked more like a thug than anything else.

 

He writes on the board: _Kuroo Tetsurou_. He watches the kids with sharp eyes and a small smile that Tsukishima is entirely uncomfortable with; from one asshole to another, he certainly knows what the hell that smile means. If his history is anything to go by, it's also the kind of smile that he finds undeniably attractive. 

 

"I'll have to take attendance," he says cheerfully. "Let me know if I mess up your name."

 

The rest of the day passes by in a more genial pace. Kuroo-sensei was laid back, a lot nicer than the old man they had who taught the class a year ago; sooner or later everyone else in his class was caught up in his pace and were tolerating his stories and jokes. It seems that Kuroo-sensei had entered into their lives like he'd been there all this time, and he was generous in being kind and laughing with everyone as he is in being intelligent, dissecting literature with a deft and patient mind that made his classmates look at him in awe and admiration. He couldn't remember a time when everyone in this class was as interested in the subject as they are now. The girls behind him were certainly paying attention, though he's fairly sure it's not just because of his knowledge of Shakspeare.

 

He takes note of that smile, that stance, that look, and Tsukishima bites his lip. This one's trouble, he knows. In that charming smile and that intense gaze Tsukishima realizes that one can easily feel like the most important guy in the world.

 

v.

A week later, the question makes its way back into Tsukishima's life, like a snake wrapping its coils around his neck. Kuroo-sensei calls for him to stay after class. Tsukishima walks towards him cautiously, and his face betrays nothing about the fact that he's irritated he'd have to do this song and dance again.

 

Kuroo-sensei must know that he's not fond of this kind of discussion, and he sports a wide, knowing grin on his face. It's that kind of defiance of personal and private space that makes Tsukishima interested in him and hate him at the same time. It's not the first time he's been invested with something, but - 

 

"So, Tsukishima -kun. Didn't your brother used to play volleyball?"

 

"He used to." 

 

"Well, Karasuno's starting another team. And I'm gonna be its coach. We're looking for members; was wondering if you'd like to come." He shows him a sign-up sheet. Yamaguchi's name is there. Wordlessly, he hands it back to him, saying, "I have too many extra curriculars to sign up for a volleyball club."

 

"You didn't even look at the schedule."

 

"I'm well aware of what I don't like."

 

"Hmm." Kuroo-sensei looks at him with an unreadable face, and suddenly Tsukishima feels like he's been missing the humour that used to lace his words, because the honesty that follows from a face as placid as the mask he's wearing tends to be a lot more potent than his own tendency to be abrasive. He was, Tsukishima recognized, in the presence of someone who knew what they wanted and how to get it.

 

Nothing is more attractive to him than this brazen sense of defiance, of that singular focus in pursuing a personal goal, and he tries not to burn at his stare.

 

"Well, that's a shame. Would've thought that you'd like to add some more points to your resume - a sports club would certainly set your already impressive application from the rest of the regular applicants coming in with marks that are just as good as yours, or maybe even better."

 

He says nothing. 

 

"There's also the fact that schools do like seeing students who are passionate about things outside of their school work, you know. It's nice that you know what you don't want, but hell, do you even know what you want?"

 

"I don't understand your question."

 

"Of course you don't." There's no condescencion as he says it, only pure honesty, and Tsukishima narrows his eyes at him. "You got good marks, a supportive family, your human quota is already filled with one childhood friend, you've got all the schools under your scope and you think that's all you need to have a good life." 

 

He tries not to be uncomfortable at how closely he's apparently been watching him. 

 

"Frankly - that's a whole lot of bull. Not to mention, disgustingly boring."

 

He clenches his fist. "Sensei. I did not come here expecting to be insulted."

 

"Oh. Has nobody ever tried to criticize you from your damn podium, Tsukishima?" That grin was back again, but this time, Tsukishima has no admiration for it. "If your life was a furniture store you'd be a damn ikea. Shit goes here and there and fits to a semi-functional thing that can be easily bought by this person or that person for the right price and the right timing. You got nothing in you that sets you apart except some sense of self-righteousness that you think is earned. Your peers might be impressed with it, but - " Kuroo-sensei shrugs. "Hey, if you're content with this life ...."

 

"You barely even know me," Tsukishima tells him coldly. 

 

"I know enough about you to know that you're being cautious for things that aren't important in the long run," Kuroo-sensei says patiently, as if he were talking to a child. "Nobody's gonna pay attention to your damn school when you graduate, but they sure as hell will judge your life based on what you've done, and from where I'm standing you've done nothing except to be good at what everyone should strive to be good at - "

 

Tsukishima punches him.

 

There's a bit of silence between them as Kuroo-sensei rubs his side of the face, noting the bruise that's formed against the skin, and the tense, angry, frustrated silence that Tsukishima is filled with.

 

Kuroo-sensei smiles.

 

"That's cute, the way you think you can hurt me .... Now, see, if you'd have let me coach you before that, you might've been able to break my jaw."

 

vi.

His fist hurts.

 

More than that: his pride was chewed up and spat out by his new teacher, smeared across the streets for him to walk over while he reminds him with the awful precision of a thread going into the eye of a needle that he's not content with his life and he shouldn't settle for anything like this.

 

The truth was that he's right. He's already settled on a path outside of this school and he doesn't think anything else other than what will bring him success matters. He doesn't want to be invested in something that will let him down eventually. He's seen what that kind of personal risk does to people like his brother, crawling across his room with a wet jersey in his hands because he thinks that the effort invested is worth all of the bruises and the embarrassment it affords you. It's hard not to be frightened and annoyed at someone's weakness when its exposed to you in close proximity. Only children and idiots have a right to idols.

 

He skips his last class for that day, an intensive math course in preparation for university, headphones tightly around his ears as he navigates through human traffic with his heart beating like a live wire. Tsukishima never thought of himself as a sphinx, but he never thought of himself as an idiot either. He knew the man was dangerous as soon as he's laid his eyes on him. He had watched his classmates' faces light up as soon as he made them laugh, pressing forward against their desk in wonder as they listened to him talk. Like moths to a flame.

SIDE B.

i.

 

The kid packs a mean punch, for as much of a beanpole as he looks. No matter. Kuroo had known that something like that might happen; he'd been too good at provoking him, had crossed a line he had intentionally drawn on the sand for everyone to respect and which Kuroo had basically just come crashing in like a tide. 

 

He knew of his brother. As far as athletes go: he's not the first one who ran away. Fighting is hard work, and being in a team puts a lot of stress on the individual, especially for those who tend to carry their own failures on their backs. Kuroo had felt it before, and the memory hadn't really gone away. The only reason why he didn't give up was because he knew that people were counting on him to lead them as captain and because he knew that his friends wouldn't give up on him either way. It was the sense of belonging, that sense of having chosen a second set of family where the first one was inadequate at touching something more personal and private that made him stay. He belonged to the court as much as he belonged to everyone else. It's a little sappy, and probably a bit too clicheed to admit to, but there's a use for cliches and sappiness that Kuroo always uses in tandem with sarcasm and a dangerous intellect.

 

His cheek was starting to bruise. He can easily pass it off as something else, a ball to the face by one of Tokyo's ace coaches in Fukurodani as well, but he can't give up now. He never does anything half-assed, and he's not about to give up this kid just because others have, or he himself have given up on himself. The worst feeling in life, as far as Kuroo is concerned, is not the constant fear of failure but rather, the constant fear of just coasting in life aimlessly, with no reason to do anything other than because it's expected of you.

 

His co-worker Kenma looks at his face as he packs up for the day, and says, out loud, "You look too happy for someone who has a bruise on their face ...."

 

"Haha, am I that transparent?" he slings his bag over his shoulder and grins, even though doing so makes the bruise hurt a lot in the end.

 

"I've known you long enough," Kenma replies easily. 

 

"True. I like to think I'm not asking for a lot - "

 

"That's what you always say."

 

Kuroo looks at him with fondness. Sometimes, in his life as a teacher, he looks at all the pile of marking and the names on his list and wonders why the hell didn't he just play as a pro for as long as he could. And then sometimes, opportunities to actually make a difference in someone's life appears before him and he can't help but be drawn to it like a hungry man, wanting everything, savouring the slightest bit of victory in the willingness of a person to change, to say "Yes" to life more and more as opposed to hiding in a shell and forever stagnating in their youth.

 

Once, in a thousand times: it's interesting.

 

ii.

Practice starts at 5 after school. He gets a crop of rather shy and awkward first years, overly excited second years, rather dependable-looking and mischevious third years. It's not a bad crowd. He introduces himself, introduces their goals, they practice two on two for a bit. There's a lot of balls flying and faces being hit by this freshman or that senior, but at the end of the day they've got their basic lessons right down. Sore and tired they might be, most of them are looking forward to another day. 

 

At the end of the day: they thank him, he thanks them, and then everyone leaves. Kuroo's the last one to go. He locks the gym doors, and then - 

 

"You're a lot more amiable when you don't talk."

 

Ah.

 

He turns around and glances at Tsukishima Kei. He's looking at him with such practiced detachment, played off as something cool - it'd be funny if it weren't so serious. Kuroo smiles. "Evening. It's a bit late for you to be out at this time, huh?"

 

He shrugs. "I have after-school lessons."

 

"Of course you do," he replies easily as he tests the lock and then slips the keys into his pocket. "You hungry?"

 

That must not be the kind of talk he was expecting; no doubt he'd come prepared for a banter, not an offer of food. Tsukishima frowns, confused, probably the first time in the evening he's displayed something honest; well, well. "My treat. Just don't tell the other kids, I don't got money for the whole team."

 

"They're barely your team," Tsukishima points out. "A gathering of hopefuls on the first day of the club hardly counts for anything."

 

"Does it? it could be the start of something. Could be the beginning of a billion different friendships you're missing out, because you're terribly afraid of failing. Could be the beginning of something frustratingly amazing and vulnerable between two souls - "

 

A flash of anger on his face; it's a palpable hit.

 

In Tsukishima's defense: he might've gone too far with the bit about souls. He gives him a bland smile.

 

"Walk with me, Tsukishima . If you're gonna fight, better to do it on a full stomach."

 

He walks ahead of him. Not even looking back, because even then, he knows - 

 

Indecision wins over pride, curiousity over arrogance: he follows. The lines of Kuroo's shoulders eases from the tension, and as soon as Tsukishima catches up to his pace, disdainfully angry at himself, Kuroo smiles softly at him.

 

iii.

Tsukishima's a brat, Kuroo realizes. He takes his favours quietly and for granted, and while he answers him respectfull enough, he's also willing to cut him whenever he feels necessary. If he weren't his student - 

 

No. He tells himself: goddamn, heel. Goddamn.

 

There's a slight objection to the ramen ("I suppose if this is all that you can afford ....") but they end up eating in a shop anyway. They eat in silence; not that Kuroo was expecting Tsukishima to say a little bit more. At the end of it all, bowls empty and bills paid, Tsukishima stands up and thanks him for the meal - he'll grant him that much - but all he replies to him is, "Come join the volleyball club."

 

That coldness is back into the lines of his face, apparently reinvigorated by the ramen or the fact that he remembered he hates him, whichever one's more potent to him. "I don't play volleyball, Kuroo-sensei."

 

"Don't you?"

 

It's a rhetorical question. He knows enough about Tsukishima Akiteru and Yamaguchi Tadashi; knows that Yamaguchi has been practicing and sometimes Tsukishima can be persuaded to watch, and if the other boy begs a bit more, to play with him. He's not the world's most patient man, but he sure as hell knows how to time his attacks well enough to shake his foundations little by little until he falls.

 

Tsukishima looks at him with renewed frustration.

 

"You'll ruin my academic schedule - " 

 

"C'mon. If you're going to make excuses, at least include something about a dead grandmother in there."

 

"- it's just a club," Tsukishima grits out angrily. "No-one's going to remember everyone at the end of it all and we'd have squandered a year or two trying to win victories against people stronger or more successful than any one of us have in between other responsibilities. It's a stupid investment for something so insignificant in the end."

 

"Insignificant, was it, when your brother walked out of Karasuno after playing with it for a while? Punch me all you want, Tsukki - "

 

" _Don't call me that!_ "

 

"- it's not gonna change the fact that you're terrified. And I'm telling you you don't have to be."

 

7:30. 

 

Tsukishima Kei looks at him like he's the scum of the earth, a veritable hunter that has gutted this carcass of a young crow across the field, and still: there's still that sharp anger in him, that awkward pride that forces this kid to look him in the eye brazenly to tell him, "I am going to wipe off that grin from your face," in quiet anger before he turns to leave him in the restaurant.

 

Kuroo smiles. He picks up his things from the table and follows outside the doors, and he ends up grabbing his wrist to call attention to him, and for a moment he was worried he'd get another punch for it again, but thankfully Tsukishima resisted the urge. "Yes?"

 

"We start at five. Every day except for thursdays, I have to do an intensive course on english in the afternoons at that time."

 

Tsukishima says nothing.

 

"And like you said: no commitment. No strings attached. Show up, play, show me what you can do. Wipe the grin off my face, as you said so eloquently. God, Tsukki, you're young. Don't just settle for whatever's passably good."

 

He doesn't look at him. But the rigid lines of his arm that was so hell-bent on punching him had turned lax, and he lets go. 

 

iii.

After what seems like almost an eternity, an answer:

 

"I'll think about it," he says softly.

SIDE A; REWIND.

i.

Monday. He watches Yamaguchi change into a jersey while he gets his things ready for advanced physics. Yamaguchi looks at him, and says, "Man, I think with your height, you'd make a good middle blocker for the club."

 

"You're going to be late."

 

Yamaguchi laughs; he knows better than to push Tsukishima at times like these. Nowadays he seems a lot more tense than usual, and he doesn't know if it's the stress of school or just Kuroo-sensei getting under his nerves a lot more easily than usual. Possibly both. "Okay, okay. Sorry. But you know, Tsukki .... "

 

He trails off, the way he does whenever he's trying to put together something that he hopes won't offend him, and then settles with, "Volleyball's really fun when you play with others. Not just like ... Winning or something. But just playing, you know, and knowing you've got a whole bunch of people who's got your back when you play. That's really cool."

 

He doesn't say anything to that.

 

"Anyway, I won't keep you from going to your class. But, uh, if you have the time tonight - help me practice, okay?"

 

"Fine."

 

"Kuroo-sensei's great, too. He makes you think .... You can do anything," Yamaguchi says with a sheepish laugh. "I kind of admire him a lot. Lots of the girls like him too, you know."

 

"I don't know why you're even mentioning the last part."

 

"I'm just saying. It's fun. He makes volleyball feel fun." He pauses for a bit, and then replies, "It doesn't ... Feel as lonely as I thought it'd be."

 

He doesn't say anything to that; Yamaguchi sighs and picks up his bag, stretching his limbs. "See you, Tsukki."

 

He leaves. He watches him until he disappears around the corner on his way to gym, and wonders when the hell did he even get to be that cool.

 

Of course it's not as lonely. Of course it's really fun.

 

It's not like he's forgotten how it feels, even if all he did was cheer and learn from his brother when he used to play.

 

ii.

Tuesday. He finds out just how many girls admire Kuroo-sensei: as a mindless game waiting for Yamaguchi to come back from practice, he counts the number of girls who talk about him in passing. So far: fifteen. All various comments about his wide shoulders and impressive muscles. The kind of thing he doesn't like because gossip is the kind of information he can't use against him. He already knows he's impressive. He walked into his life with casual abandon and disregarded all the barriers he'd painstakingly built all his life with a self-confidence that comes from someone who knows who he is.

 

That in itself shouldn't be attractive, but it is. 

 

Another thing he finds out:

 

Waiting is a lonely activity with headphones glued to his ears while he counts down the hours until Yamaguchi appears.

 

iii.

"You, um, want to go like _this_ with your hands - "

 

"I look dumb."

 

"Yeah, but it allows you to shut up my spikes if I ever - "

 

"This is tiring."

 

Yamaguchi sighs in frustration. "Tsukki - "

 

"Alright. Alright.I'll try." 

 

"Thanks."

 

"Why does this even matter to you, all of a sudden."

 

"What? I told you, I like volleyball, it's fun."

 

"You didn't use to be so involved. Now you're even thinking about .... I don't know, a championship or two. You're not even a regular."

 

"...I'm not. But so what?"

 

so what.

 

"It just seems ridiculous. All this effort ...."

 

"I like the club. Do I really need another reason than that?"

 

"Are you gonna continue this after high school?"

 

"I don't know?"

 

"Are you thinking of going pro?"

 

"I don't know."

 

"Then what."

 

"Does it matter?"

 

"It's just - odd."

 

"You collect dinosaurs, and you're calling me odd."

 

"There's nothing wrong with collecting dinosaurs, you don't have to aim so low."

 

Laughter.

 

"Well, then - you don't have to look for some .... Really deep reason as to why I like it so much, I guess? I mean ... If I fail a serve during practice, it's really embarrassing. But there's practice tomorrow again and that's as good of a reason to come and say 'i'll do better this time' and just keep going."

 

"Huh."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Do you have a problem with Kuroo-sensei?"

 

An awkward silence.

 

"Oh. Do you not like him? most people like him."

 

"He keeps hounding me to play volleyball."

 

"I told him that when you're pushed, you're good at it. Under pain of death, though."

 

A scoff. "And what did he say?"

 

"He said something about how he hopes it wouldn't come to that, but just in case, he'll bring a shovel."

 

".... What an asshole."

 

"I thought it was funny." A pause. "Sorry. I laughed really hard when he said that."

 

"Of course you did."

 

"It really was funny! You should've seen his face .... But you know, Tsukki, I do think you'll do well."

 

"Hm."

 

"Yeah. I really do. I mean .... You must get really bored waiting for me anyway."

 

Another awkward pause.

 

"If you don't want to come for practice, you can stare at his face instead."

 

"That's even worse."

 

"You like guys like him."

 

"No I don't."

 

"Yes you do. I know you, man. You like guys that challenge you. Guys that piss you off. You're crazy for things like that."

 

"No I'm not."

 

"Oh my god. Do I have to remind you of - "

 

"- I don't know about you, but my spikes are actually quite deadly because niichan taught me."

 

".... That's a lie, you never liked spiking."

 

"So?"

 

"I think you're running away."

 

Slightly clenched fist.

 

A shaky breath.

 

"This is .... Really bad, huh. Not only are you sligtly interested in this guy, but going to the club means you're gonna want to prove him wrong and at the same time not to show off too much how badly you want him to recognize you."

 

"I don't know why people think you're nicer than me."

 

"You're taller and louder, you tend to stand out."

 

"... You're really pissing me off."

 

"Whatever. Come to the volleyball practice on friday, Tsukki. It'll be fun."

 

iv.

On Thursday - 

 

Nothing. He waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, he goes home, frustrated. He receives a text from Yamaguchi at around nine in the evening: _sorry for that. Took a lot longer than usual. Went out with the team, had lots of fun._

 

He stares at the ceiling of his bedroom for what seems like forever. He tells himself, _you're pathetic, Kei._

 

v.

He finds Kuroo-sensei on the rooftop, smoking. 

 

"Aren't you supposed to do that away from school grounds?"

 

"Live a little, Tsukki." He flicks the ashes from the rail as he leans against it, watching him keenly with a sharp grin. 

 

He back against the rail as well, fingers intertwined together as Kuroo-sensei smokes quietly beside him. The smoke doesn't bother him, not really. But he's a nice presence to stand beside with in the hot sun, and he thinks, maybe, just maybe - 

 

"Sensei."

 

"Hm?"

 

"... Teach me how to smoke."

 

Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him, and then grins. "Will you join my ragtag volleyball team if I do?"

 

"Depends on how good you are at teaching me."

 

And he does. He tells him how to hold it in his fingers, how to breathe. He laughs when he fucks it up in the beginning. He tells him to relax. Tsukishima listens patiently. After a while, he's able to do it calmly, breathe properly, letting the smoke billow around him, fingers casually on the filter like he's been doing this all his life. He thinks about what Akiteru and Yamaguchi would think - and finds out that at the moment, he really doesn't care.

 

Kuroo-sensei is about to take another one from his pack, but Tsukishima takes one last drag from his cigarette and then casually places it back to his lips. He looks at him with his face impassive as his fingers brush against his lips, taking the cigarette back with his mouth.

 

"You told Yamaguchi, you'd bring a shovel for me while you try to convince me to play for you."

 

"Hmm."

 

And with steel in his voice, he tells him: "If you're going to bury me, then I'll have to drag you into it too."

 

"You're a real shithead, Tsukishima Kei."

 

He blows smoke obnoxiously to his face, and smiles.

 

The way that he looks at him after cigarette in his fingers as he leans against the metal with his cheek pressed against the rail, should be illegal. As both of them were shitheads: the only thing that made it even more attractive was the way his lips moved from the filter as he passes the cigarette back to him, and Kuroo smiles as he takes the cigarette from his fingers onto his lips.

SIDE B; FAST FORWARD.

i.

He knows he's fucked when the first thing he thinks about as he watches him make his way to court is, _damn, those are some really long legs._

 

ii.

The thing about Tsukishima is that he has a reputation for being a difficult student. He changes the dynamic of the team whenever he walks in the vicinity of anyone who isn't Yamaguchi. People regard him with either contempt or cautious silence. Tsukishima has never been confronted by such a quietly hostile group all his life, and not in such close quarters as the gym. It's plain to see what he thinks of them as it might as well be in neon on his face.

 

And still: he has a talent for reading character and movement and his sense of calm is unshakeable. He reminds him of the way Kenma or Akaashi used to play during his high school days. It's thrilling to watch him unflinchingly kill spikes. His receives need a bit more effort and same with his serves, but in blocking he was promising. He learns quickly, and like with all other things that he's involved with, works hard.

 

The highlight of the night was perhaps when he manages to kill a senior's spike, one of his super eager kids who was hoping to claim the title of ace from everyone else and - Tsukishima destroys his dreams with one well-timed block and continues on from there. He's not the best that they have, but they can't call him a rookie either and they certainly can't treat him as one. He needs to work better with a team, but all in all: he works hard to keep the ball in play, and if that's out of pride or because he's trying to avoid more disappointments in the future later on, Kuroo really can't say, but what he can say is that he's good at what you ask him to do and - if push comes to shove - he really can get better.

 

At the end of the practice he's tired and exhausted and he's got bruises everywhere from blocking and multiple laps of flying falls from all the receives he's missed, and still his eyes are sharp, there's an intensity in him that he would've thought to be diminished altogether from the effort of striving to fit in with a team, and victory comes into his view when one of the seniors puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him, "You're not as bad as you seem to be, Tsukishima-kun."

 

Carefully controlled elation.

 

iii.

He turns off the lights in the gym and is met outside by Tsukishima. 

 

"Did you have fun today?"

 

"It's not bad."

 

To Kuroo's credit, he doesn't roll his eyes, but he can't really fight the grin off his face as he locks the doors. "I'm glad you came today, Tsukki. Make sure you come every day from now on."

 

There's a slight - and only a very slight one - hesitation on his part, before he replies: "If you'll have me."

 

"I've wasted a hell long time provoking you into doing this, of course I want you to stay."

 

Tsukishima rolls his eyes at him then, and Kuroo couldn't help it, he just laughs. Tsukishima shakes his head. What he doesn't say: he appreciates that small gesture, it's the kind of thing that marks him as exactly who he is. A teenager awkward around the edges, rough in personality with a sharp tongue, but still: really interesting, very intelligent, a valuable player for the team, with a mental fortitude that the others can strive to learn from and a willingness to put himself on the line so as not to be left behind anymore. It's the kind of thing that prevents talent and sense like his own from stagnating, the kind of thing that staves off bad memories of disappointment from an idol, the kind of thing that gives rise to a motivation that goes beyond what must be done, what should be done, what can be done. It's the kind of thing he admires in him. 

 

He tells him: "Shall we celebrate?"

 

It's a bad idea. And yet - Tsukishima looks at him, and then shrugs. Seals his fate with the words: "Why not."

 

They buy cake for this event. Tsukishima takes home his strawberry shortcake and Kuroo orders a mousse. They have long talks about volleyball. They talk about the top schools in Tokyo at the moment. Kuroo gets to talk a bit about being a captain in his time; Tsukishima listens attentively. While waiting at the bus stop, Tsukishima tells him, "Hey, let me smoke with you."

 

"... I feel like I failed as a guardian in some way." But he takes out a pack, anyway, and Tsukishima - that little shit - takes the lighter from him. He places the cigarette in his lips and lights it for him, cupping his lithe fingers around the flame. He watches him. Tsukishima doesn't look him in the eye as he does, but after he takes a drag, he lifts the cigarette from his lips and does the same.

 

The smoke in the shed for a while, taking turns with one cigarette even if Kuroo has many more in his pack. Tsukishima crushes the butt under his heel after a while. As the bus approaches from around the bend, he turns to him and says, "You should know. I get fairly obsessive with people I end up liking."

 

"That's a nice warning. But that being said - did you just admit to liking me?"

 

"Maybe."

 

"As well as being obsessive?"

 

Tsukishima smiles. It's rather attractive. Kuroo thinks he's super fucked, but the heart wants what it wants, even if what it wants is a shithead who thinks he knows better than he does and he's worked so hard into getting into his volleyball club, only for said shithead to turn the tables on him with something more problematic than a matter of whether or not he'll have something else to add onto his resume at the end of the day. "Good evening, Kuroo-sensei."

 

And yet - 

 

iv.

\- and yet he keeps showing up regularly, with the exception of Thursdays. He works his way to becoming a regular player, he takes initiative in plays, learns from his mistakes, learns from his rivals and enemies, slowly becoming a formidable player on his own. He slowly learns about his teammates, gets along with them with minimal provocation, attends meetings and training regular. If he is disapponted by a loss, he doesn't hold it over his head like a guillotine as he used to before, utterly willing to smear his negativity in plain sight. Not anymore: he's careful, he's patient, he works hard. In his classes: a slow burn in terms of compromise and patience with other students not of the same level as he was. A gradually developing respect for the seniors who deserved it. Really, Kuroo couldn't ask for a better ending than this.

 

Things he's gotten worse with: the cigarettes. The constant waiting for him after gym. He's in the phase where he figures out things that he likes, things that wouldn't push the envelope and land them both in trouble but still be able to manage to work things: how to brush his fingers at the back of his hand in seemingly accidental gestures. He had gone from an awkward teenager who was terrified of failing, terrified of being alone, calmly dispatching anyone who had gotten too close to him with a sneer or a disdainful look to someone who was quietly watching his every move for any sign of approval, of desire: a bird of prey with claws slowly sinking into his skin. Timing is crucial.

 

As with all after practice meetings: he waits for him. He comes to share a cigarette with him, and then he tells him politely, "Good evening" as he walks away. He can't tell if that's all that he's willing to do or that's all he's willing to care to do, and it's a delicate balance to ask from someone whose specialty is making ambiguous plays.

 

He tells him, with the slightest hint of regrets in his voice as he passes the cigarette to him another friday evening, "I liked it better when all you wanted to do was to punch me in the face."

 

"Given the amount of training I'd endured, I can probably break your jaw by now."

 

"Probably."

 

Tsukishima takes a drag from his cigarette, and then tells him, "That's a confession."

 

".... That's the most ridiculous confession I've ever heard in my life, and I've had many proposals throughout the years."

 

"Were all of those proposals between eleven and three in the morning?"

 

"Hey, now."

 

"I like you," Tsukishima says calmly. He says it in this voice that's about as calm as everything else about him; only the way his fingers clench around each other says how much he's putting his heart on the line about something he already knows is difficult to achieve, terribly illegal to embrace, and a perpetually risky situation to be honest with. And yet: he goes through with it anyway. It's endearing and terrifying at the same time, to be the object of someone's attention and still have the freedom to say no.

 

"You're awfully brave today."

 

"Good. I might regret it and take it back tomorrow."

 

"It might be better if that happened." Kuroo flicks the ashes to the floor; Tsukishima looks away and says nothing. Jaw set firmly as he turns his head. "But ...."

 

"Yes?"

 

".... Neither of us will be happy."

 

"Hm."

 

Tsukishima moves from his side to lean so close, his nose bumping against his own - only to subtly take the cigarette from his fingers so he can take a drag in front of him, watching his lips wrap around the filter and move away from it as he exhales.

 

"Good," Tsukishima whispers. "All or nothing: isn't that how this goes?"

 

Sometimes looking at him was a little bit like looking at the sun. 

 

v.

When he tells Kenma about this - not the whole story, but enough to make it seem like he's in control of the situation itself, he rolls his eyes.

 

"Are you really surprised? He's your student, Kuroo. Of course he's gonna be just as stupid and dangerous as you."

CODA.

i.

Three years of playing volleyball wouldn't restore Karasuno to its former glory, but it does give everyone the idea that they can, and like with everything else ideas are just as dangerous as notions of _victory_ or _hope_. Try finding someone who doesn't believe in Karasuno anymore nowadays, especially after the matches they've slowly accumulated during their years in the club - there's surprisingly very few.

 

It feels less and less like walking into a field knowing that you're dead meat and more like being expected to have you there, claws and teeth and all. Tsukishima thinks: he can get used to this. He walks in to school with the low buzz of music in his ears and the faintest smell of pall malls around him, and he thinks to himself, _years ago I wouldn't be caught dead telling myselfI've done the right thing up to now to listen to someone's shitty advise about a sports club. And here I am. A whole lot less lonelier than I started._

 

It's shaping up to be a good day.

 

(If Yamaguchi has noticed the smell of smoke, he never pointed it out. Akiteru did, however; same with the growing pile of Nekoma jerseys in his clothes. When asked, Tsukishima just shrugs. "I like red on me."

 

He mentions this to Kuroo, and he laughs. "Sounds like something a velociraptor would say.")

 

ii.

He hadn't expected the affair that they have to grow more than what it is. In the first place it's already complicated to carry it out in secret; second, he just doesn't have the patience to maintain it beyond his high school years when he's got so many options available to him now beyond just thinking about doing the right thing.

 

It's three days to his graduation ceremony and he spends the second to the last day with him in the rooftop, passing a cigarette between each other in comfortable silence. And then, after a while, Tsukishima tells him, "I'm glad your tyranny over me is done."

 

Kuroo laughs. "That was a good time, wasn't it."

 

"No. It was painfully frustrating." But he's smiling now. 

 

Kuroo leans forward and kisses him on the tip of his nose.

 

"Get out of here and raise hell," he murmurs. "Before I push you off the roof for being a little shit."

 

"I'm taller than you."

 

"That's not cute at all, Tsukki."

 

Tsukishima takes a drag from his cigarette, passes it onto him. Exhales as he leans forward to rest his head on his shoulder, and revel in his warmth. Kuroo puts a hand on the small of his back, pulling him close to him as he smokes in silence.

 

"I want to spend dangerous amounts of time with you," Kuroo tells him. "Especially now that you're done with this place for good."

 

As for regrets, Tsukishima finds he has very little. And that's a lot more than he can ask for, really.

 

 

 

end.


End file.
